


The Canvas of Your Skin

by TearoomSaloon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It, Force Bond (Star Wars), Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Scars, and there was only one bed, oona voice: is broke. or is?, there were actually two but....you know......., they're in love but they're both idiots your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29111487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearoomSaloon/pseuds/TearoomSaloon
Summary: She was incapable of touching him without drawing blood, it seemed. Lines like vermillion paint streaked where her fingers sketched down the contours of his face, his back, and now his chest.In which a Force bond is splintered, a resurrection goes wrong, a kiss is forgotten, and two almost-lovers avoid speaking for the better half of a year.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35
Collections: To Find Your Kiss: The Reylo Fanfiction Anthology's Valentine's Day Exchange





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlingreadsalot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingreadsalot/gifts).



> I combined two of your prompts - A fix-it where she reunites with Ben, and one of them is in danger in need of rescuing.  
> I must apologize for deviating woefully far from the Humor tag and diving straight into a painful, angst-riddled drama. For that, I ask forgiveness and offer a happy ending as penance.
> 
> The premise, since the summary is a little vague is - Rey brings Ben back immediately on Exegol, but the process of restoring life is more complex than simple healing and she screws it up, seemingly depleting the dyad and breaking their Force bond in the process. Horrified, ashamed, and now blind to his emotions, she distances herself from him, believing her feelings for him are unrequited.  
> He, in turn, is upset that the undoing of his sacrifice undermines his redemption through death. He does not remember what happened in the minutes following her resurrection and his death, and is also under the impression his affection is one-sided.

“Could your timing be any worse?”

Ben’s holoprojection frowned, one hand on his hip, opposite arm lying gingerly at his side. He was sporting a bruise on his cheek deep enough to see over the faint blue of her old transmitter. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t plan my days around inconveniencing you.”

“Sure feels like it.”

He sucked in a breath and winced. “Listen, I’m stuck on this nightmare planet and will continue to be stuck until someone gets me.”

Rey took another sip of her steadily warming wine. “And you want it to be me?”

“' _Want’_ is a strong word. I’d rather you send Poe and Finn, but they won’t be of much use on a Sith world.”

“Finn’s training is going well.”

“That’s great, but he’s more likely to stab me than save me.” 

“I might be more likely to stab you,” she muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. You were saying?”

“The coordinates are in my quarters. The sooner the better, please. I’m positive something has been stalking me for a week and I’m in no shape to fight off a hungry predator.”

“Should have thought of that before traipsing around an evil jungle.”

He groaned. “ _Rey._ ”

“Fine, I’ll do it.” She clicked off the transmission. He’d have to wait until morning; there was more fun to be had downstairs.

She had been an idiot to think everything would be swell and good after Palpatine’s defeat and the smackdown on Exegol. Her friends would be safe, the First Order would crumble, and she’d get alone time with Ben to explore their connection.

Instead, a significant number of Resistance ships had been lost, the First Order still had strongholds since their leadership across the galaxy wasn’t decimated, and Ben died. She brought him back to life at the cost of their Force bond, apparently, and he’d been prickly and distant ever since. It turned out the disagreeable parts of Kylo intended to stick around in Ben, his volatile and demanding personality dominating anyone foolish enough to give him an inch of pity. Things were never easy, were they?

Rey returned to the base’s main gathering area, the large indoor-outdoor space hastily converted for a party. They’d managed to liberate an industrial world in the Western Reaches, which was cause enough for celebration; denying the First Order another shipbuilding planet was icing on an already sugary cake. She swapped her empty cup for a tall glass of Gizer ale from a long, food-laden table before sliding up to Poe. He was engaged in some embellished retelling of vaguely heroic acts and she counted the seconds until he noticed her return.

He jumped when he found her hovering at his elbow. “You are frighteningly quiet.”

“Jedi technique,” she said and tapped her head. “Can I borrow you for a few minutes? It’s urgentish.”

He turned to Aftab and the regular crew. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Or back never, knowing you,” Vi said with a laugh. “We’ll pour one out for the loss, Dameron.”

Rey tugged him away before he could get himself into a quipping match. Out of earshot, she slowed her retreat. “Have you seen Finn? Or Rose?”

“No, but an educated guess says they’re likely on opposite sides of the room.”

“Are they really still not talking?”

Poe shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, I hardly see either of them these days.”

“It does feel like we’re all doing our own separate things.” Poe was busy being the seemingly-careless flyboy poster child of the Resistance, Finn had been spearheading the development of a Stormtroopers de-programming system, Rose spent every waking hour jailbreaking First Order tech, and Rey kept getting assigned odd jobs by High Command.

And Ben was rogue as usual, fucking around somewhere far away from Ajan Kloss.

She took a long draught of her beer, pushing the brewing sentiment from her consciousness. “Anyway, the Dark Lord sent a transmission a few minutes ago, he’s stuck on some nearby hellhole and needs one of us to go pick him up.”

“What, like we’re his designated speeder pilots at a house party?” He laughed. “High Command spoils him rotten.”

“Or they want to see him as little as possible. I don’t even think he’s on a sanctioned mission.”

“So what’s the plan? Get the gang back together and save his ass for a second time?”

She stalled, eyes elsewhere. “He said it would be best if only I go.”

“Oh, boy. Okay. I’m going to need another drink.” He drained his cup and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Stay put, I’ll be right back.”

The room engulfed Poe like an amoeba, swallowing him whole as he disappeared into the chatter and excitement. Buzzed, she let her thoughts pool slowly like rainwater, body tingling, arms light. Something had gone horribly wrong on Exegol when she’d pulled him back from death. She’d expected Ben Solo to be more Han and less Kylo. Caring and willing to talk to her about if there were any mutual feelings between them, not blunt and abrasive and skilled in avoidance behaviors.

Rey choked back a sticky feeling in her throat. It had been months since she’d kissed him and they were still pretending it never happened. The loss of their bond wasn’t helping her cope, unsure if he was purposefully pretending she barely existed or if he didn’t remember the minutes right before his death. It would be too awkward to ask if the former were true.

“You have got to stop looking so depressed at parties.” Poe returned and pushed a shot glass of amber liquid into her free hand. “One for the road, hotshot. Let’s go somewhere less loud.”

They clinked and she threw it back as quickly as she could. Still not practiced with liquor, the shitty whisky assaulted her taste buds and she grimaced, clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “Rancid. Gods. What hole did you dig that out of?”

“The free one.”

He led her back to one of the provisions rooms that lined the hangar’s inner sanctum of engine blocks and piecemeal fighters. It smelled of old potatoes and cured meats, cans of nonperishables stacked high amid hardy root vegetables, sacks of flour, dehydrated caf pods, and enormous wheels of creamy yellow cheese. The lighting overhead was cool and dim, one of the long tube-shaped bulbs dead for the better half of a month.

Poe ascended a sturdy crate with leafy greens poking out from slots in the sides. “Well, the doctor is in. What ails you?”

“Are we really going to do this now?”

“You won’t talk about it sober and it’s starting to affect your judgement, so yes, we’re really going to do this now.”

“I just…” she started and plunked down heavily. “I hate him, so much.”

“I recall you once launched yourself straight at the _Supremacy_ to talk him into jumping ship. Doesn’t quite sound like hate to me.”

“Fine. He makes me feel a lot of complex things that I hate dealing with.” Like if she had read his emotions wrong when their bond was still intact, or if her feelings for him were just hollow lingerings from said missing bond. Its absence had scored a deep wound in her chest. Instead of healing, it had begun to fester with ripening fears. Maybe their connection was never real and she’d been tricking herself like an optimistic, naïve little girl. “He gets on my nerves, to the point where I do not want to go save him again. Worked out great last time as you can tell.”

Poe snorted and leaned back on an overstuffed bag of uncooked denta beans. “What, did you think you were some hero coming to rescue the prince from his tower?” His expression dropped slowly as he watched her lips draw into a frustrated line. “It doesn’t work like that, Rey. Was he supposed to become a whole different person because you pitied him?”

She wasn’t about to divulge the long tortured months of Force fuckery that had snapped them both across the galaxy with the ferocity of a cracking whip. While there had been an adequate amount of yelling matches, she’d spent a fair number of nights with her head in his lap willing back tears, upset and afraid of her own shortcomings. Kylo had been gentle, subdued even, soothing her worries into ashes and dust. That side of him seemed lost to the void now, the stranger wearing his face still reckless and headstrong but terse with her, biting to draw blood instead of nipping in warning.

Rey sighed. “No. And it’s not pity; there’s more to it.”

“Care to elaborate? I can’t give advice if I don’t know.”

“I am _not_ taking your advice. Look what your sagely words did to Finn and Rose.”

“Ah, this is an affair of the heart.”

She was going to stick her dumb fucking foot right in her stupid fucking mouth.

“So,” Poe started, a sly, tipsy grin bold on his face. “You’ve got a thing for resident evil.”

“Yeah, the ‘thing’ is I’m going to kill him.”

“Gods, Rey, what a perfectly horrible choice of love interest.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“You didn’t correct the word love.”

Groaning, she spun part of her crossbody wrap around her head, failing to cover her embarrassment. “You’re a dead man, Dameron, I’m coming for you next.”

“I have no faith in your ability to kill Ben Solo; consider me unworried. Anyway, to recap, for some inexplicable reason you have feelings for him—”

“It’s not inexplicable. We had a Force… thing for a year.”

“A Force… thing.”

Didn’t she _just_ say she wasn’t going to elaborate? “I don’t know how to explain. It was like he was in my head? We could communicate through it. Anyway the skinny is we don’t have it anymore and I guess I thought he’d magically switch to being less nasty after renouncing Kylo but it turns out Ben Solo is _also_ nasty and impatient and on edge constantly.”

Poe laughed, needing to set his drink down amidst the giggles. “ _I_ could have told you _that_. He’s been a bit of a nervous wreck since we were kids. Unattainable childhood expectations will screw anyone up.”

“Well then, do you have wise and thought-provoking guidance to bestow upon me?”

“Yeah, cut your losses and move on.”

She stared, dumbfounded.

“He’s not well-liked, he’s got a lot of work to do on himself, and he’s clearly not interested in you.”

“We’ve _kissed_ before, though we didn’t really get a chance talk about it—”

Finn chose this wonderful, perfect, opportunistic moment to open the door.

He looked between the cloth gathered around Rey’s head and the cluster of empty glasses at their feet. “What the hell did I just walk in on?”

“Nothing!” It was in unison, both scrambling to appear less inebriated.

“Sure.” He did not look convinced. “One of the techies managed to get the intercom system connected to music. It is admittedly terrible, but entertaining. Figured I’d come find you two after Vi said you scurried off like startled lizards.”

Rey stood up, alcohol hitting her squarely in the chest like a barrel of cement. “I like dancing.”

“And I like not sitting on top of vegetables.” Poe hooked an arm through Rey’s and motioned for Finn to join. “Shall we, lad and lady?”

The evening continued in a swirling blur, moments bleeding into each other, scraps of conversations weaving in and out. Rey didn’t remember going to sleep, or where her head had finally fallen. Mind swirling even in unconsciousness, her dreams were odd and muddy. The usual surrealist nonsense bled easily into a memory that looked slightly off, as if everything had shifted a few inches to the left.

Her knees were cold and pained from the hard floor of the cave, the heat of Ben’s limp, lifeless body dissipating steadily into the icy air. She yelped as his weight forced her forwards, panic rising like bile up her throat. He couldn’t die now. She _couldn’t_ lose him. Frantic, she reached for what was left of their dyad and slammed it into the hollowing space between his ribs. What if it didn’t work? What if he was lost just as soon as he’d returned to himself? Teeth clenched, she remained motionless with her hands splayed on his chest, worried any small misstep would break the spell.

With a horrible cough, Ben Solo sat up.

“Rey?”

Dazed and numb, she moved to brush sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, but he flinched and drew back.

And proceeded to vomit candy red blood.

“I don’t think you put me back together correctly.”

She reached out with the Force to see if she’d screwed up somewhere, but found their bond was… 

Gone.

It was impossible to find his aura even as he sat in front of her swiping blood from his chin with a shaking hand.

The ground began to swallow her whole. “I think you’re right.”

The hangover hit her before the sunlight, head pounding, tongue furry. Not sure where she was, Rey sat up slowly and rubbed bleary eyes. This was certainly not her bedroom.

Rose beside her rolled over and jabbed a finger towards her nightstand. “Drugs, top drawer.”

Rey fumbled uselessly with the tamper-proof cap of a clear plastic bottle and exchanged two white pills for water. “Why do we do this to ourselves?”

“Because we have terrible judgment and hangover cures are easy to come by. What even happened last night?”

“Your guess is as good as mine; I’m not sure how I got here.” The last thing she remembered was getting into an argument over which holo-movie could truly be considered the worst of all time. She had been on the floor beside Finn, with Rose and Poe on the couch across the room discussing some new drama.

“Where are the guys?”

“I think we left them in one of the lounges. Do you have the time?”

Rose raised her wrist chrono to Rey.

“Shit.”

“Late for something?”

“I will be.”

Brain throbbing, she picked up her boots from the rack by Rose’s door and left. Ben had hopefully not been eaten in the time since he called, though the lack of any new messages wasn’t encouraging. Coordinates were in his quarters, right? She’d never been into his rooms before, barely aware of their location. Luckily, she bumped into a haggard-looking Poe in her fevered search.

“Sleep okay?”

“I think I’ve permanently bent my neck a few degrees to the right.” He winced. “You’re awfully energetic.”

“Panicked. I needed to leave two hours ago. Do you know where Ben’s room is?”

Poe raised an eyebrow. “Snooping for information?”

“Getting planet coordinates.”

“Other side of the base with the other big wigs.”

She scrunched her nose. “Really?”

“They’re somewhere between hating him and wanting him to stay on our side so he’s been given more privileges, or so says the gossip.” Poe shrugged. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go pass out in my own bed. Good luck, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“No promises.”

She punched in the key pin Ben had transmitted hastily, not wanting someone to oversee her practically breaking into his room even though she had been given permission. There would be questions, and she hadn’t a clue if he’d already let High Command know he was in rough shape.

Door open, she slipped quietly inside and turned on the overhead lights. He was much messier than she was expecting. Clothes were thrown haphazardly on the bed, sheets in disarray, pillows sliding to the floor. His desk was covered in tinkered-with gadgets, loose screws and bolts, stacks of physical blueprints, and miscellaneous unorganized trinkets. One looked similar to a necklace she’d broken several months back but, upon further inspection, the shape and colors were all wrong.

Uninterested in prying because, as she told herself, she was uninterested in Ben Solo altogether, she recorded the coordinates for Korriban in her datapad and left. She had no idea where he’d found this, as there was no way in any hell they had information on the Sith homeworld in their databanks. She could ask later, after she’d finished chewing him out for getting injured and trapped on a deserted but still dangerous world.

She was in hyperspace within the hour and would land within the next twelve if Ben’s original course was well plotted. Rey was briefly envious of how easy he made his flight paths look.

The comm on her dashboard beeped. Poe came into view when she answered. “I was thinking—”

“I thought you were sleeping.”

He rolled his eyes. “I was _trying_ , but the thinking decided to take priority. This is a short call, don’t you worry. Have you ever considered that your behavior is what’s pushing him away?”

Her brows knit. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re always moody and don’t approach him, how is anyone supposed to take that?”

“I don’t— _”_

“Think about it, Rey. Have a safe trip.”

The connection terminated and she sat forcefully back in her chair. Preposterous. It wasn’t her fault that Ben acted like an ass.


	2. Chapter 2

If Ben could go back in time and kill his past self, he would. He didn't deserve to live for thinking a trip to this hellish shithole was a good idea. Might even be the densest motherfucker alive for considering it.

Korriban was, thankfully, uninhabited by sentients. The Sith race had long since died out and no one else was insane enough to colonize this wasteland. Hell, even the Sith themselves had gotten out at their first chance. The native fauna were Force sensitives thanks to the nexus at the planet’s core, making it a right pain to move about unimpeded. He'd already had a nasty run-in with a pack of hounds, and whatever was stalking him was extremely adept at stealth; he'd yet to spot it, only aware of its presence from fresh gouges in tree bark and impressive piles of scat.

Determined this adventure to not end up a complete failure, he was still trekking through an ever-climbing mountain pass towards the Valley of the Sleeping Kings, hoping the Sith Citadel held more answers than questions. If not, at least this was an exercise in ignoring the pull of the dark side, though it was sapping his energy much quicker than he'd like to admit.

It was insidious how easily his body remembered the rush, executing motions and techniques without a conscious thought. Three times now he had used darksider powers in front of Rey, not realizing what he was doing before catching the startled and disgusted look on her face. Time would only tell if he’d be able to extract all of its splinters still lodged and lingering in his pliable flesh. Almost a year out from his initial excision, the effort remained grim.

His revival had been…

Bad.

He could still taste the stale blood on his tongue when he closed his eyes, feel the hot pressure of his organs twisted incorrectly inside the cavity of his chest, nerves knowing little else but how to scream in agony. And yet, with all the physical discomfort that had plagued him upon his return to the living world, it had been drowned by crushing, coagulating rage. Was his sacrifice so worthless to her that she insisted upon undoing it? What was the point of giving his life—the last meaningful thing he had—for the sake of a selfless act if he were going to be dragged back up from the dead moments later? What sort of a sick joke was _that?_

She had looked panicked when he roused, his bright, saturated blood staining her hands as she tried to steady his shaking shoulders. He couldn’t focus on her voice or the plead in her tone, every scrap of energy diverted to keep himself conscious through the searing waves of pain making clammy his forehead. It must have been sheer luck earlier when she correctly patched the hole she’d carved through his side. Now her fortune had run dry and something deep in his guts had been knit together horribly wrong. Blood pooled nauseatingly in his stomach, metallic and thick.

A branch snapped to his left, startling Ben from his darkening mood. The animal trailing him was on the move; dawdling now meant death. Which, he thought grimly, would have been an appropriate end to this farcical second chance. Regathering his strength, he continued down the winding slope, the tops of the Valley’s great statues finally in view below.

He lost more skills than he cared to admit from that brief journey beyond the veil. His ribs, angry and broken, were now beyond his mending capabilities and his pace had to remain agonizingly slow lest he jostle unsecured bones. He couldn't say he was keen to try healing again, the long scar splitting his abdomen in half motivation enough to abstain. In the deep night he found his fingers tracing the numb, oddly-textured line, unsure if he should be grateful to be alive or frustrated that his attempt at redemption had left him permanently maimed.

The highest point of the citadel’s temple was a tall, black spire rising against the oozing red miasma of the planet’s atmosphere. Ancient and dilapidated, the main entryway was crumbling, cracks in the stone slabs visible from half a kilometer away. Any wood in the structure had long ago rotted, abandoned and unmaintained for centuries. He hoped whatever was pursuing him would hesitate to follow into the mouth of the Sith’s forgotten stronghold.

He was barely inside the entry hall when his comm pinged. Her timing was both abysmal and impeccable.

She looked exhausted, dark circles like wine stains on her cheeks. “Where are you?”

“In the main temple. Shouldn’t you have landed by now?”

“Late start, got dragged into morning meetings.”

Something about her voice wasn’t quite right. “Were you _drinking_ last night?”

“None of your business.”

“It is my business if you’re going to be a shit rescue because of it.”

“What are you now, my handler?” Rey snarled, her eyes narrowed. “Activate your tracker, it’ll save me time having to look for you.”

“It’s broken. Everything’s broken. My ribs, the tracker, the ship—you’re lucky my comm still works.”

“No, _you’re_ lucky; I wouldn’t have bothered looking for you on my own.”

That cut deeply, barbed words tearing at chunks of flesh as they ripped raggedly through him. He exhaled, leaning against the wall with his good side. “Just follow my coordinate map, all right? It leads directly here. Use what’s left of my ship as a marker.”

The venom in her voice faded to a dull sting. “What happened to it?”

“Not important. Chalk it up to a piloting error.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stay put.”

The transmission snapped off and he was left alone in the darkness of the main hall. It would be easier, he surmised, if he continued to avoid her once they returned to the Resistance. The tugging sensation in his chest grew aching and unappeasable the more he spent time interacting with her. The last near-year of attempts to cut it out felt like trying to carve flesh with a melon-baller; inefficient and ineffective. He had thought, incorrectly, the disintegration of their Force bond would also amount to the death of his feelings for her. Instead they’d grown deeper, coiling tendrils of misplaced adoration weaving like ivy into the cracks of his stone façade, making weak the integrity of his innermost sanctum.

Her bitterness and anger did little to stop his intrusive yearning from spiraling out of control. Why had she resurrected him if his very presence seemed to aggravate and annoy her? If he’d known their shared affection were false, a dream concocted to sway Kylo's mind, he’d have let himself fade back into the sea of death and ignored the pleading for his soul to return to its body.

Somehow, this hurt worse than disappearing into oblivion.

At least oblivion was painless.

* * *

Fucking hell, that’s what he meant by what was left of his ship. Tortured strips of burned metal groaned from the heat of her engines and she touched down beside the wreckage, loud enough to hear through the hull. One wing lay meters from the crash site, the other was hanging from the body by precariously placed ribbons of overtaxed durasteel. Whatever did this wasn’t weaponry she could identify, the scorch patterns seemingly random and not a thing like artillery fire.

Worry gripping her insides, she called again. “Were you attacked by something?”

His face was closer to the transmitter now, the mottled bruising over his cheekbone unmistakably deep and extensive. Her heart ached before she could rein in the emotion.

Ben cleared his throat. “Not actively.”

“What the hell happened to your ship? It’s charred and in pieces.”

“There is a defense system around Korriban that prevents unauthorized vehicles from exiting the atmosphere. I found out the hard way.”

She blinked away the anger creeping in her peripherals. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Had a hunch you’d leave me to rot here if I did.”

Maybe Poe was right; she _was_ the bigger asshole. “No I wouldn’t have, you idiot.” There was no fire behind her words, no more sparks to spit. “How far away are you?”

“About half an hour on foot if you’re quick. Scrap heap landed much closer to the temple than the escape pod. You are by the body, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” His expression softened. “Be safe, Rey.”

Her boots thumped on the gangway as she clambered out, not waiting for the pneumatics to finish lowering to the valley floor. Why was everyone telling her to be _safe_ all of a sudden? It was a desolate red desert of a planet with no sentients. What was going to come after her, the trees?

It was a long but straightforward path towards the mouth of the temple. Towering statues carved into the canyon walls loomed ominously, their eyeless faces causing shivers to race down her spine. The ground seemed to ooze darksider energy and she was already keen to get the hell off this dust-covered ball. Hopefully it didn’t take long to shut down the defense system, or find a way around it.

She was nearly to the stairs up into the temple when she was sent flying by a massive clawed appendage. Her head smacked hard against stone and she went down, dead weight landing hard on the clay earth.

Ben groaned as the terentatek charged. Of course it had been _that_ thing stalking him. He might have laughed if the situation weren’t so dire. Or if Rey’s skull hadn't just cracked like a warra nut.

Well, she was unconscious. Not like she could lecture him about tapping into the dark side now.

Unfettered fury crackled down his veins, once-familiar energy pulsing, thrumming through his body, shaking his bones. He’d never say it aloud but he _missed_ this, the taste of dark-amber honey, the ease with which he could channel his pain to become a productive powerhouse. He could forget how broken his ribs were, if only for a few minutes.

A darkside user itself, the terentatek could sense him coming, but its large, lumbering body was cumbersome, unwieldy compared to the blaze of his lightsaber. It turned too slowly, thick fingers trapped in the path of the plasma blade. Letting out a curdling howl, it smashed its uninjured hand into the ground where he stood milliseconds prior. Too slow. He struck a tusk and it shot backwards, the injury to a sensory organ throwing its balance off center. Bloodlust took over his body as the creature began to feign a retreat.

He hadn’t intended to kill it, he told himself as he wiped unidentified visera off his sleeve. The pain in his ribs had come back with greater vengeance, as if hot pokers were continuously pricking the muscles of his left side. Breathing hurt. The brush of fabric on his skin hurt. Ben pushed the discomfort away as much as possible to attend to Rey.

She was lying in a crumpled heap at the base of a statue. No blood or fractures from what he could tell from a cursory inspection. Just unconscious, hopefully not much more than a concussion. With an enormous effort, he managed to lift her with the Force, his one good arm stabilizing her head.

Her eyes fluttered open, lucidity not quite there. Her smile looked drunk. “Oh, Ben. There you are." She giggled. "I’ve missed being in your arms like this.” And she was out again.

He nearly dropped her.

Brain swimming, he was on blind autopilot the whole way back. He hadn’t noticed the ship wasn’t the _Falcon_ until he went to set her down on the main cabin’s bed and realized the sheets were all wrong. Had she really said _that?_ He’d been repeating the words in his head for the better half of an hour, but they sounded fake and fabricated in his mind. Why would she ever want to be close to him if she held such disdain every time he opened his mouth? Had the impact rattled a handful of screws loose?

What if… she had been telling the truth?

What if the rest was just an act?

Preposterous.

Probable.

Patently.

Oh gods.

He sat down heavily beside her, mattress dipping under the newfound gravity pushing on his shoulders. A dim light bulb grew brighter the more he pondered the cause of its radiance. What was he supposed to _do_ with this information? She’d had almost a year to explain her odd, aloof behavior but instead of admitting anything, she had pushed him away? It seemed out of character almost, especially after she had done everything in her power to bring him home alive and breathing on the right side of the Force.

He could just pretend he hadn’t heard her, not that she was going to remember it.

It was clear some reservation about him was holding her back. Maybe the thought of having affection for him disgusted her. It wasn't as if he were well liked on base, and he had done horrible, terrible things to her friends before switching sides.

With a previously-steady hand, Ben let his fingers trickle down the rounded dome of her skull, alleviating any swelling and mending broken capillaries. She should be fine in the morning. Force energy and sleep were enough to overcome the wooziest of concussions in his extensive experience.

The act drained the last of his vigor, lungs and head made of stone, weighing forcefully down on his skeleton. The pain in his side was blistering, growing worse with every breath. He had no idea where the other cabin was on this ship—or if there _were_ another bed, or sleeping quarters, or even a couch. Depleted, he let himself collapse into the bedding beside her, the warmth of her body soothing his aching skin and overtired muscles. He remained on his back and let sleep wash over him like a restless ocean tide.


	3. Chapter 3

Rey awoke on a hard surface with a throbbing headache. This had to be a dream, given that the hard surface was Ben’s chest and not the floor. She sat up slowly, cataloging other details of the room. It looked like her ship’s main cabin, her towel on the door of the ‘fresher, nightstand holding a few recopied Jedi texts. Still tired, she turned to lay back down but was stopped at the sight of dream-Ben. It wasn’t the first time she’d dreamt of lying beside him, but there was something different about this version.

The hem of his dark shirt had ridden partway up his stomach, exposing several inches of a long, thick keloid scar. Rubescent skin stretched across it tautly, finely wrinkled like tissue paper, the color variegated and blotchy where it was unprotected against the room’s cold air. The line of the incision was neat, precise. Surgical, curling around his navel and disappearing below the waistband of his pants. They’d cut him open like a cadaver.

This scar was her doing.

And this was decidedly not a dream.

It turned out that bringing the dead back was a much different process than healing someone already living. His fall down the chasm on Exegol had broken several bones, a rib piercing though his liver, a splintered shard from his pelvis serrating his intestines, lungs and kidneys lacerated. He wasn’t going to make it without medical attention even if he hadn’t given her what was left of his life.

She, not knowing, not understanding, had tried to heal him as though his body were already whole instead of irreparably fractured below the surface. Bones had warped into unsightly shapes while organs mended through and around them. She had become violently nauseous when the attending emdee had explained what they’d found. Ashamed, she’d avoided visiting him while he recovered, disgusted and upset with herself for not doing better. Why couldn’t she do anything right?

Guilt plucked at her heartstrings as she gazed down at him, at her despicable handiwork. One mark after another permanently etched into his body. The once-angry gash that divided his face, the hole in his chest from where she’d rammed him clean through, a burn on the side of his right thumb from an accidental slice of her saber, a jagged starburst on his left shoulder blade, and a long stripe running from his sternum to his belly. How dare she love this man after indelibly mutilating his skin so many times?

Rey swiped a tear before it fell.

She propped herself on an elbow beside him, unconcerned with the situation or the pulsating pain in her head that worsened as her pulse quickened. For now she would let him sleep, mournful eyes tracing the rise and fall of his chest, the delicate whisper of his breath. He stirred without warning and she should have leapt from her place at his side but remained frozen. Her window to move closed fast as caf-colored eyes drew slowly open. Yellow stained his limbal rings but awareness was lost in his gaze, as if he’d yet to wake. She was left paralyzed by his hand grazing low lying strands of her hair.

He smiled when her traitorous fingers danced timidly along the back of his wrist. “This must be a dream,” he said and closed his eyes.

She lowered his hand to the bed and she, too, laid down to sleep.

The softness from earlier lingered when she rose, the sun long set on the dry red wastes of Korriban. The main cabin of the  _ Nerachos _ was dark and it took a minute for her eyes to adjust, light from the planet’s seven moons dim and unhelpful. Ben woke when she stood, the jostling of the mattress causing him to suck in a tense, painful breath.

“We need to get moving,” she said, thankful the cover of darkness couldn’t betray the mixed emotions on her face. “Before something else finds us.”

“No thank you for saving your hide from the terentatek?” He winced, slowly pulled himself to the edge of the bed, and stood.

She moved to leave, tense. “The what?”

“The thing that knocked you clean out, or did you forget? It feeds on Force sensitives. I told you I was being stalked before you left.”

“Oh. I hit my head, didn’t I?”

“Pretty hard, yeah.”

He was in bad shape. It was rude of her to rush off, wasn’t it?

Rey wavered a moment before returning to his side. “You seem like you have a question.”  
His eyes were careful as they scanned her face for any hints of malicious thoughts, causing her stomach to drop. Did he really think her so cruel? A moment of silent, tortured agony passed before he spoke. “I’d like to take a shower, but I can’t lift my left arm over my head. Would it be too much to ask if you could...” His voice trailed off.

“Is the pain that bad?”

“Yeah. I definitely turned a crack into a full break when I fought that thing off.”

Biting back a crushing wave of guilt and embarrassment, unsure where to look, she curled her fingers around the hem of his sweater, bringing the fabric over his head. Carefully, not allowing her skin to brush his. Gently, gradually, she pulled the sleeve from his right arm, then the left. She winced at the sharp, hurt hitch of his breath, insidious shame crippling her hands knowing she was causing him more pain.

She kept the balled-up cotton clenched tightly in her fists when he was laid bare, remorse so thick on her brow she feared he was able to read her thoughts as they tumbled down like a deluge from overburdened clouds. Gaze trained to the floor, she brought her lips into a tight, impregnable line. “Your eyes are the wrong color,” she said softly.

“I drew on the darkside.” His tone was regretful. “We wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t.”

“Will they stay like that?”

“No. It was only to protect you, I don’t plan on using it again.”

She looked up at him, finally. At the lugubriousness in his eyes, the downward curl of his lips. Emotion speaking over logic, she said, “Let me at least heal the bruising.”

Not that she trusted herself to. Not that he should, either.

“Just the bruising,” he agreed, turning his face to the side.

Attention trained on her fingers, she pushed away the anxiety buzzing in her chest, the contrition, the undeserved faith she wouldn’t screw up. His skin was burning beneath her touch, swelling over his ribcage no doubt uncomfortable and blazingly hot. She refocused herself, dipping into the Force to mend broken capillaries and damaged flesh. Just the fascia, no deeper. The muddy, mauve contusions began to recede, fading away as healthy tissue returned to his battered side. When she finished, the only remaining discoloration on his chest was the latest scar in all its pyrrhic glory. It started higher than she had imagined, just below his sternal notch. Fainter here than where it lay over his breastbone, almost invisible, revealed only by the shininess of the paper-thin skin. She dared not touch it.

“Thank you.” His voice wavered so slightly. “I’ll be fine from here.”

Perhaps it would be best to leave and remove herself from this gathering moment.

Her hands fixed rations with mechanical precision; a machine at a task, not a woman distressed. She didn’t bother to check the label, or savor the food. More than an hour past before he called for her, in need of assistance again. This time she insisted on taping his ribs, unwilling to voice the worry that he may snap them worse if he weren’t careful, or that he’d injure himself further. His skin burned her with the intensity of a dying sun.

“If you give me directions,” she said as she sat across from him at the galley’s small table, “I can disable the planetary defense system.”

He shook his head. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

“You’re in no shape to travel.”

“And what if you get ambushed again? Or I’m wrong and it takes both of us to do it? Out of the question.”

With a sigh, she sat back. “Fine. Where do you think it is?”

“Back in the citadel. There should be a room below the library that acts as a control center if my maps are correct.”

She recalled the size of the massive temple, how it blocked out the sun with its enormous spires. “I have a hunch this might be more than a day trip.”

“I agree.” He yawned and it forced her to confront how exhausted he looked, how drained. “We should head out in the morning. I know we just got up, but I need to sleep, it’s been days since I was able to rest for more than an hour or two at a time. Is there really only one bed on this ship?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “You should get some rest.”

He stood, then stalled. “I don’t mind sharing, if you’re not opposed. It wouldn’t be good if either of us are tired tomorrow.”

She was grateful to the darkness for hiding the flush on her cheeks. It was cold on the ship and she was burying herself under the covers in an act of self-preservation; if she had to look at him, or even be aware of his body beside her, she might do something idiotic. Why did she not mention there was another bed?

Ben shifted and their eyes met. A smile, soft and small, flickered quickly across his lips. “Do you remember, a little over a year ago, when you were looking for something on Dagobah and got lost? You pulled me over to your side of the bond accidentally and we had to angrily figure out how to get you out of that swamp. You were  _ so _ angry with me, rightfully. I don’t think we really spoke, just yelled. But you made it out without a scratch. We’re a good team even when we want to kill each other, but…” He turned his gaze to the ceiling. “I’m glad we’re not angry this time.”

She couldn’t help the grin to follow and instead hid it beneath the sheets. “I  _ was _ angry, originally, but you’re right. We’re a good pair, you and I.”

“And I—I’m sorry I can’t turn to look at you.”

“Let me.” Rey rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up. She could count the moles on his countenance, drinking in how the dark blue light overhead made dusky his hair, his eyes. The urge to brush a curling inky lock from his forehead was overwhelming, but she shoved it down, cursed to lie for eternity alongside her desire to kiss him in this soft, understated moment. “You were saying?”

He blinked, hesitating. “I’ve lost my train of thought. Perhaps it’s time for sleep.”

He was out quickly, injury and long days of restlessness catching up within moments. She lay awake for a half hour more, memorizing the contours of his profile, the strong line of his brow, his nose, his jaw. After much deliberation she lay her hand over his, fingers entwining so easily, an effortless match. It would be a secret kept between her and the night, a quiet yearning.


	4. Chapter 4

He was awake first, muscles stiff from having slept in one position. It was barely daybreak, the weak sunlight barely scraping in through the cabin’s one window. Rey was nestled into a ball beside him, head nearly on his shoulder, arms wrapped fast around her pillow. 

He let his eyes wander over the relaxed expression on her face, the way her hair fell over her nose, the slow motion of her breath. But, they needed to get going, the sooner the better.

She startled awake when he laid a hand on her shoulder, eyes wide as she retreated to the other side of the bed. "If we're quick we can be off planet tonight or tomorrow morning."

"Tonight, if possible." She rubbed sleep from her eyes. "I'm still a little rattled from getting thrown like a sack of beans, would greatly appreciate leaving before we can run into any more of those… whatever that was."

Which, luckily, was not too difficult. The trek out to the citadel was uneventful, wildlife not yet stirring in the hazy dawn. The terentatek’s carcass at the base of the stairs was already partially scavenged, crimson entrails spilled onto rusty red clay. He turned before he could begin to analyze his strike pattern, how frenzied his rage had been. Better not to dwell or risk sinking again.

“Your map is crude and I can’t read the script.” They stood in the main entry hall as Rey squinted at her holoprojector, face growing more confused by the second. “What  _ is _ this?”

“It’s the Sith language. Did you think I drew my own map?”

She frowned at him. “A little?”

This was going to be a long day.

It took hours of slow ambling to reach the first floor of the library. His pain was worsening the more he moved and it took all of his energy to not show any outward discomfort. She went between hovering and investigating, shining her blade on the intricate mosaics that coated the wall, ceiling, and floors. They were reported to tell the story of the Sith people, but the timeworn tiles were cracked and worn, large chunks of the story illegible and lost. It must have been beautiful once, the colors coming alive under the growing sunbeams.

She stopped in front of a long-disused fountain, the spouts carved like beasts’ heads, glittering blue jewels embedded in the black stonework. He watched as she ran her fingers over the smooth slabs making up the rim, her motions slow, almost as if caught in a moment of wonder.

Her voice was soft when she spoke. “It seems strange to see the relics of an old civilization so pristine. Not an object out of place, nothing looted or destroyed.” She turned to him, eyes lit by the blue of her saber. “What’s wrong with this place?”

“The dark side of the Force is terrifying here; can you not feel the nexus at the heart of the planet?”

“No.” She stalled, looking anywhere but his face. “I feel stupid admitting this, but I can’t differentiate between the sides as much as I thought. I should know, but the Dark feels calming in a way I don’t know how to interpret, or distinguish. In the same way, sometimes the Light has teeth.”

“You’re not pulled one way or the other?”

She shook her head. “Not since…”  _ Anywhere _ but his face. “We should get going.”

“I need to search the library before heading down. You can go if you’d like.” He shifted his weight, gazing at the stacks of faintly-glowing holocrons. “There’s a reason I came here in the first place.”

“Which is?”

“I’ll tell you if I find it.”

Giving him an odd look, she turned towards the stairs, disappearing into the labyrinth of towering shelves.

The Sith as a people were far more advanced than their historical counterparts. If anyone had the knowledge he was seeking, it would be here amid the ruins of their accomplishments. The Jedi, ancient as they were, only collected information that wouldn’t provoke young minds to stray from their teachings. No forbidden texts, no dubious skills, and no darksider information.

It was tedious to translate half-eroded letters and missing words, columns of information safely guarded by their indecipherability. Eventually, far too quickly for his liking, he ended up off-track, sitting between the stacks with open volumes and holocrons littered about his feet. Old history, caste drama, writings on magic and the self—things whose importance was lost from the passage of time. Each thing was more distracting than the last, likely from the growing sense of dread that had taken root at the bottom of his stomach. What if the information wasn’t here? What if this was just a gigantic waste of time that resulted in several broken and/or cracked ribs, a destroyed ship, and a slip to the dark side?

He put his current book down. Even if this were fruitless from a knowledge standpoint, he and Rey were on speaking terms again which was enough of a success. Nearly a year without her had ached worse than he could have anticipated. She had wormed herself into his bones, sinking teeth and claws into his marrow. They had shared little affection—a misplaced hand on a shoulder, the lingering of fingers brushing back a loose strand of hair, once or twice her back against his chest in a moment of weakness—but it had been enough to reroute the current running through his brain, the flow of blood down his skeleton. He never realized how hollow he’d felt all these months.

His hands stalled over a pyramidal holocron, its edges a brilliant red. This was it. He could feel the Force emanating from it like the blaze of a bonfire burning his skin. It opened easily, like a marigold blooming in his palm.

Rey returned once he’d devoured the contents.

“You look a little perplexed.” She sat down beside him, arm nearly touching his. “What is it you’re looking for?”

“Information on dyads.” His voice was far too soft and low. “You’ve noticed it’s gone, haven’t you?

“Yeah. It’s my fault.” Her sigh hurt in the core of his chest. “I used what was left of it to bring you back. I’ve been so ashamed of both that and…” She trailed off, a thick sound caught in her throat. “And the mess I made of you that I’ve been afraid to talk to you, afraid you’ve grown to resent me. I’m sorry, Ben, for all I’ve put you through. The death of that bond was just an insult to injury.”

“I did resent you, at first.” He sat back, careful not to twist his torso. “But not for that. I should have died on the cold ground, finally able to give everything I had left in exchange for how much I took from this world. And you robbed me of a chance to atone for all my transgressions, all the blood caked under my nails.” He caught her gaze, the weight of its intensity and sadness sitting heavily on his shoulders, skin of his neck prickling from shame. “I’m coming to understand that as the coward’s way out. And I don’t blame you for what you did.”

“Thank you.” She swiped at moisture he pretended not to see. “So, what have you learned?”

“Nothing promising.” He held up the holocron. “This talks of dyads being highly in tune with the emotions of the pair. That, and death will shatter it beyond repair, leaving only wounds in place. Which is why you feel apathetic towards the Force’s pull, and why I can’t heal myself anymore.”

Her eyes widened. “At all?”

“No.”

She fell into silence, hands covering her mouth. Minutes passed before she broke the quiet. “You’d think both of us being brought back would have restored it, but the more I learn about the Force, the fickler it seems.” She laughed, the sound humorless. “I was secretly worried it had somehow been broken by that kiss.”

He froze. “That  _ what? _ ”

“You don’t remember?” Rey faltered, cheeks blossoming in the dim room. “When you brought me back, I was so overwhelmed I kissed you. And you kissed me back.” She hid her face in her knees. “I thought you were embarrassed by it, or pretending it never happened.”

“We’ve kissed?”

“Yeah.”

“And you… wanted to?”

“I wouldn’t have initiated if I didn’t.”

He ran his tongue across his teeth, mouth dry. “Wouldn’t it be funny if it broke with the kiss instead?”

“You have a twisted sense of humor. And what, another kiss would restore it like some children’s tale?”

“Probably not, I don’t know, things never work out that nice—”

Her lips were hard against his, knocking the wind from his lungs. Fingers like iron talons raked through his hair, pulling him so desperately close. Heat pooled in his stomach, raced up his limbs, trickled down his back. Lightheaded, dizzy, he followed with her as she broke away.

And the floodgates crashed open from the roar of the waves.

Every scrap of emotion, every memory, every sensation of his surged through her veins and she was overcome with the gravity, the sheer force of the downpour. His desire to kiss her again was thick like syrup on her own lips, tormenting her body with the wants of another. If she closed her eyes she could let the headiness of the moment flow over her, mindful of the current instead of fighting the storm.

She’d never been one to think before acting.

Bolting up, she nearly sprinted out of the aisle, rounding a hard corner to sit beside the fountain. Were these her thoughts? Or his? Where was all this tenderness coming from? The stone was cool against her neck as she lay on the rim, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It had been so long since she’d felt Ben prod her thought and the surprise of it caused her to flinch and fall into the basin.

“I can hear what you’re thinking.”

Had it always been this loud?

“Yes.”

“I need a minute.” She said it out loud, stupidly, and sat up. Her feelings for him had  _ not _ been fabricated. If anything, they’d been mirrored. Staring into his thoughts now was akin to watching her reflection on a crystal-clear pool of glass. He’d been so hurt by her avoidance, her inability to admit to her mistakes, it was a wonder he still harbored emotions this strongly for her. And that she, disgracefully, had questioned the validity of her own.

One minute became ten before she slunk back to him, setting down gracelessly, close enough to lie her head on his shoulder. She refrained. “You have feelings for me.”

“I’m glad it took you ten minutes to figure that out.”

She rolled her eyes and continued. “I was so lost in my own fears that I didn’t realize.”

“I was also closed about them.” His hand found hers and she curled her fingers around his instinctively. “Afraid of being hurt again, or discarded. I figured if I removed myself you couldn’t reject me.”

“Or accept you.”

He nodded. “Too upset with the negative prospect to consider another outcome. I can’t believe we’ve been so stupid for this many months.”

“It was like going from knowing how to do something to having no skills at all. One minute I knew your emotions as if they were my own, the next, you were a stranger beside me. We became too reliant on the bond.”

“You make it sound like we could have sat down for a chat.” He chuckled and the sound made butterflies cascade down her nerves. “Even with it back—and I don’t know how that ridiculous suggestion worked—we should make an effort to communicate more.”

“There’s a lot I want to talk to you about, but I think we need to prioritize getting off this planet first.” She stood and held her hand out to him. “Ready?”

It was dark in the lower levels of the citadel. The control room was untouched by time, what was left of boot buckles near the door, the disintegrating fabric on the backs of chairs, centuries of dust covering the tables and panels. She held her blade over Ben as he worked, her inability to read the swirling script hindering any progress she’d attempted to make. This was preferable, anyway, as it allowed her to watch his hands move so delicately over the instruments, long fingers deft and confident. If she were less concerned about time she might have ducked to kiss his cheek while he worked.

“I can hear that, you know.” He glanced back at her and broke into a smile. “It’s nice, the affirmation.”

“Hurry up then, I can affirm more when we’re not in some dungeon hunched over wires.”

“I want to talk first, before anything else, if that’s okay with you.”

It wasn’t as if she could say no.

The return to the ship was slow, Ben having used the majority of his energy searching for the holocron. She didn’t mind him needing to lean on her every few minutes, an opportunity to remain close to him. It was startling how quickly the barrier of touch had disappeared, fingers tangling and untangling, shoulders too near, brushing as they walked. She wanted to tell him out loud how strange it was, how comforting, but she had a hunch he already knew.

It was late when they’d finished eating, late when she stacked dishes in the kitchen sink, late before they’d even considered talking. It was the bantha in the room, something so damningly unspoken but ignorable if they avoided making eye contact. She could feel his nerves mix with hers when the question of ‘where do we sleep?’ arose. It was different now, somehow. Sharing a bed when they were both exhausted but unaware of mutual pining did not fit into the same realm as sharing a bed with someone when harboring romantic feelings.

Was it even harboring if they were out in the open?

“There is a second bedroom.” She wasn’t sure why she said it; she didn’t even want to sleep in it.

“Earlier you said there was only one.”

“I lied.” She kept her gaze trained to her hands, embarrassed flush creeping across her cheeks. “I wanted to sleep beside you.”

“But now you’re suggesting we stay in other rooms?”

“Doesn’t it feel more scandalous now?”

He chuckled. “Why, because we’ve kissed twice?”

“No, because…” She licked her lips, mouth a desert. “Because I don’t have the self-control for it to stay twice, or just kisses.”

It dawned on him, finally. “Oh. My ribs. Better not tonight.”

“I know.” On tiptoe, she gave him a quick peck. “Goodnight, Ben.” She hurried off before she could change her mind, or do something stupid.

It shouldn’t be happening this quickly, right? In the second bedroom she yanked off her boots and socks, almost too tired to change, Ben’s exhaustion clouding her mind. Maybe she should go see if he needed anything before she passed out. This ship wasn’t laid out like the _Falcon_ and she’d forgotten to mention where the spare blankets and towels were kept. It would be quick, she told herself as she opened her door—  
“I lied.”

The ferocity of his kiss sent her stumbling backwards, hands fast in the fabric of his shirt. Breathless, dizzy, she laced her fingers into his hair and pulled him to the bed, lips lingering on the sharp line of his jaw, the hollow below his cheekbone. His good hand snaked up her back, palm resting between her shoulder blades as she was nudged down onto the sheets.

“Swap with me,” she said with a ragged hitch in her voice. “I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

He obeyed, lying on his back after she stripped him of his shirt. Faced with the full length of his scar, she froze.

“It’s okay.” He brought her hand to the middle of his chest, pressing her fingertips against his marred skin. “I don’t mind it, honest.”

“I’m still so sorry.” Pinpricks of irritation stung her eyes. “I never want to hurt you but I keep doing it.” The scar, the avoidance, the miscommunication.

“It’s only my body. I’m no stranger to having scars.”

She nodded and leaned down to meet his kiss. The skin felt soft beneath her touch, smooth but striated, thin. In the morning she’d pay more attention to it, but for now the man bearing her mark deserved her full attention. She kissed down his stomach, relishing in the way he shivered beneath her lips, the slight arch of his back when she traced over the waistband of his pants.

“This is your first time, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” With a slow breath, she met his eyes. “Guide me.”

His hands were gentle as he positioned her, voice soft in her ears. He looked love-drunk as she felt him fill her up, sensation new and overwhelming. His emotions were wild across their bond, spearing her through the chest with thoughts of  _ we’re really here, am I dreaming? Gods I hope not _ .

“You’re beautiful in the moonlight.” She said that one aloud, wanting him to hear it directed at himself. Smiling down at him, her chest felt ready to burst. “I think we’ve waited long enough.”

It was soft, slow, and delicate, both out of the need to be gentle for his ribs and their budding emotional state. Her name rolled over his tongue like a prayer, teeth buried in her neck, nails sharp on her back. Breath mixing, toes curling, she drew him into a powerful climax, muttering wisps of words against the column of his throat.

Sated for the moment but so hungry for his touch, she curled into his good side, sweat slicking her forehead, lungs achingly raw. Her voice sounded cracked as she spoke. “That was a long time coming.”

His laugh reverberated between her ribcage. “I’ll admit I’ve thought about this more than once, in multiple different ways.”

“What was your favorite fantasy?”

“Doesn’t matter, they weren’t as satisfying as actually getting to have you to myself.” She felt his lips, sweet and featherlight, press against her forehead. “Sleep. We have a long journey home tomorrow.”

It was early when the ship’s comm system pinged. Rey threw on clothes with complete abandon, socks not matching, shirt not her own. Anything to get that damned thing to stop buzzing. Slumping into the pilot’s chair, she accepted the call to find Poe’s face snapping into view. He raised an eyebrow, then lowered it.

“Everything all right? Figured we would have heard from you by now.”

“Rescue mission complete. King Idiot saved, planetside issues taken care of, departing later today when it’s not the crack of dawn.”

“Good. Send me your information when you take off. And Rey? You might want to cover that hickey before you land.”

She slammed the connection off, stood, and stalked back to bed, embarrassment thick on her face. Deep under the covers, she pressed her face to the crook of Ben’s neck. He had a few to hide as well.


End file.
